Toujours Pur
by LivingInMyDreams
Summary: She had broken their invisible rules, and she had paid dearly for it. She had lost their game. In the aftermath of "Oh Brother, Where Bart Thou?" 2x13 , how will Blair and Chuck find their way back to each other. Blair & Chuck.
1. Introduction: Missing

Introduction – Missing

The holidays on the Upper East Side were always a lavish affair, lights on every tree, mistletoe and wreaths spread along Fifth Avenue. This year, a black veil hung over the top of the food chain, it was impossible to forget that Bart Bass would never again buy out a company he killed, and that Chuck Bass was nowhere to be seen.

Up in the Waldorf-Rose foyer, were a few people that Cyrus deemed "extended family" and thus, had to see in 2009 with them. Serena, Eric and Lily, the Archibald's minus the Captain, Jenny on Eleanor's invitation, and Dan on Serena's. The missing ones were Aaron, who stayed behind in Argentina, and Chuck.

Blair sat on one of the perfect cream-colored couches, Nate on one end, Serena in the middle. Serena slouched back, her pain visible, Nate with his head in his hands, but Blair sat primly on the edge of her seat as always. Shoulders straight and back rigid, glass of scotch in hand. She held onto it so tight, that her knuckles were white.

She had refused to celebrate the holidays this year. She refused to celebrate anything until Chuck returned, safe, to her arms. She took a small sip from her scotch, and let it burn her mouth before swallowing. She couldn't drink scotch for shit, she didn't know how, nor did she actually enjoy it, but the taste was familiar and comforting.

On the couch across from hers, Cyrus chatted animatedly with Dan about something insignificant, her mother discussed with Lily and Nate's mother near the window and Eric and Jenny laughed in the loveseat. She was subconsciously tuned into all their conversations – her mind really only on one thing.

It seamed to her that this small get together lasted hours, she longed to tear down the façade, and just lie in her bed till all hours in the morning, tears down her face. She longed to cuddle with Cyrus while watching Breakfast at Tiffany's and let all her pretenses go. She longed to eat doughnuts with her mother while Cyrus read passages from Pride and Prejudice. She thought of how if _he_ were here, her life would be perfect.

She had broken all their invisible rules, she had stepped over that thin line they had created. She had changed the game – or stopped it. Either way, she had lost.

She looked around her, at the people that formed her life, how it all seamed to fit into one room. Somehow amidst everything that was the Upper East Side, the elite seamed to understand and comfort each other. And when one of them fell off the map, it affected all of them. Because no matter what an outsider thought, as the fireworks went off in the background, their was something missing at this soiree. It was subtle, yet the conversation was less enthusiastic, the light was missing from certain eyes, and the smiles were less pronounced.

* * *

"So what am I supposed to do now Chuck? You're calling the shots."

Jack Bass had followed his nephew around for two weeks to 13 different locations across the globe. He had discovered him in various states of consciousness and every time, he proceeded to accomplish the mundane task of cleaning him up and stuck him in a hotel and waited.

This time was different, Chuck came out of his room, dressed in a clean and pressed suit, brief case and suitcase in hand, coat over his arm, signature scarf and all. He looked… like Chuck Bass. Except for the hair – he had taken to wearing it disheveled and not slicked back.

"Nothing. I've just made several arrangements that will please you – I would say. I conferenced with the board, and they have agreed to allow you to act as CEO for 12 months – under their complete supervision – at the end of which your job will be analyzed. If you did well, I'll give you the permanent position until I'm ready to take over. As for me, I have a few things I need to do. I'll always have a phone, so I'm reachable, but at a number that only you, the board of Bass Industries, and Lily Van der Woodsen know of. I expect it to stay confidential. If the press asks – no comments and more importantly, if anyone of my friends ask – you know absolutely nothing. You received a letter from me in the mail that only stated details about work."

Jack smiled, very pleased, but still curious.

"And what of the rest of the assets?"

"Everything is taken care of, but in short – it is mine and Lily's. You are welcomed to stay in my penthouse at the Palace, and I don't think you will be pressed for money, seeing as you're receiving the same salary as my father."

Jack frowned slightly, and Chuck glanced at his watch, "I must be going."

He made to leave, but Jack stuck his arm out, "One more thing – why does Lily know of your number?"

"I'm afraid that's none of your business."

* * *

_It was 6 AM and Chuck was coming from Blair's. He unlocked the front door, and walked into the salon, to find Lily asleep on the couch. She was still dressed, and her head lolled slightly back._

_Chuck shook her slightly, and her eyes fluttered open._

"_Chuck, your home."_

_He lifted the corner of his lip, "Not really. I just… I just wanted to apologize. And I wanted you to know that I won't tell anybody, and since I was the highest bidder – no one else will know."_

_Lily wrapped her arms around Chucks neck, "What do you mean not really Chuck?"_

"_I… I need to go, to get out of here. I've been messed up for a really long time Lily, and… this family – has been the closest I ever got to normalcy, and I want to thank you for that. But, I need to figure some things out – I need to do it, like you said, for the people I care about. I can't hurt everybody around me anymore. Like I said – I've been fucked up for, forever, and I need to fix some things."_

_His eyes bore a few tears, much less then Lily's, because the salted water streamed down her face._

"_But Chuck… we can help you, we care about you, we are your family, and we can help you fix those things, here at home."_

_He shook his head, "No. I need to do this by myself."_

_She nodded, holding him closer; he pulled away to look her in the eyes. "Theirs something I need to ask of you though, a favor."_

"_Anything."_

"_I need you to keep an eye on Blair for me. She's a lot more fragile then people realize, and just make sure Serena's there for her. And if anything seems off, you can reach me here, ok?" he handed Lily a folded piece of paper with numbers scrawled on them._

"_Ok," she nodded._

_She stood to accompany him to the door, "Chuck? She might not wait for you, you know?"_

_He looked her in the eyes, his no longer brimmed with tears, but they were freely flowing, he chuckled, "People do not give you enough credit for your perceptiveness Lily. Anyways, that's kind of what I'm hoping for, for her. I'm hoping she forgets all about me. As l long as I know she's happy, I'll be okay."_

"_I'm not, you bring out the best in each other. You wouldn't be willing to change for anyone else."_


	2. Chapter 1: Layla

The wooden door opened to reveal a tall and slim women with fantastic long legs. Her hair, a beautiful shade of auburn, fell not straight, but wavy to her mid back, and her eyes gleamed a fantastic blue. Her eyes fell on the boy on her doorstep, his back straight, yet it seemed obvious that he was exhausted, both mentally and physically.

Immediately her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he let himself sink into her arms, and she supported his weight. And they stood like that, for an incalculable amount of time, his tears falling, her running her fingers through his hair, while she whispered comforting words to his ear.

"Shh. It's okay baby, I'm here now, everything's going to be ok. It's okay my darling, shh. Come inside okay, and we'll clean you up. Come on babe."

She picked up his bags and pushed him through the door.

The inside of the house looked ten times better than the exterior, it was lavishly decorated, the walls cream colored, rich fabrics on the couches. A grand piano stood near the window covered in pictures.

Chuck walked over and looked down on the silver frames. Several of them of a beautiful brunette, entwined with a girl with auburn hair, both smiling and laughing. One of them was of the brunette in a hospital bed with a small baby in her arms, ecstatic, cooing to her child, with a tuft of light brown hair. Another one of the auburn haired women and the child, taking his first steps, his mother in the background overjoyed. There was a common reappearance of these three characters at different ages, happy and peaceful, and perfect. But the pictures seemed to stop when the child reached the age of five or six, and the oldest one was of two teenagers in matching shorts and t-shirts, brown and red hair braided into two pigtails, all smiles in front of the Eiffel tower.

Tears ran down Chucks face as he allowed himself to think about the woman he had pushed to the back of his mind for years. He whispered softly, to no one in particular, "What do I do now Maman?"

And in his mind, the soft voice of his mother resonated, "Ne t'inquiete pas mon ptit' homme, Maman est la."

"She was tres belle, your mother, n'es pas?"

Chuck turned to face his godmother, tears still flowing, "Oui, she was the most, the most beautiful."

She sighed, bringing his head to her chest, comforting him and herself by playing with his hair, "Oh, Charles mon petit bonhomme. Everything's okay now, now that you're here with me, I'm going to take care of you like he never could."

"It's not okay," he whimpered. "I'm not okay. I never was okay."

"Oh, mon ptit' homme, mon pauvre ptit' bebe. I should have never let him take you away. If I had known, I would have fought much harder, but how could I? I didn't stand a chance, but I'm here now. Tell me everything, dit a Layla ce que te fait de la peine. I can fix it, I promise."

A.N.:

"Ne t'inquiete pas mon ptit' homme, Maman est la" is French for don't worry, my little man, Mommy's here.

"Tres belle" means very pretty.

"Oui" means yes.

"Mon petit bonhomme" or "mon ptit' homme" means my little darling. They are just terms of endearment.

"dit a Layla ce que te fait de la peine" means tell Layla what hurts.

If the French bothers you, I'm sorry, but it's part of the story, I'm going to reuse a lot of the same words, so it'll be easy.


	3. Chapter 2 : Fight

"I'm sorry Blair, but I've told you already, I don't know where Chuck is."

"And as I told you Mr. Bass, I've known your nephew my whole life, and I know that he would not hand his company to you no strings attached, you must have some form of communication, and I want to use it, that's all – no harm done. Surely you would want your nephew back home safe again? Why can't you help me accomplish that?"

Blair placed he hand flat on the front of Bart Bass' desk and leaned in to look him in the eyes. Her white silk blouse rode down as she bent over, as her black pencil skirt rode up her thighs. Her purple pumps tapped at the hard wood floors, impatiently, with malice.

He didn't flinch, and his eyes darkened. "Listen Miss Waldorf, I have been extremely patient with you, but if you do not stop disrupting my work day for your silly accusations, I'm going to be forced to do something about it."

She quickly stood up and turned on her heel, walking to the door of the high-rise office, she paused at the door, eyes defiant and cold, "You will find, Mr. Bass, that I am willing to go to very extreme lengths to get what I want. Don't underestimate me, Mr. Bass, I might not be some sort of big shot CEO, but I have nothing left to loose."

Jack blinked, surprised. _This girl has spunk._

Blair sat in her dining room, papers spread across the wooden table, maps and pictures, her cell and laptop strewn here and there. She sighed, putting down the blown up picture in her hand, the last time Chuck was seen, the airport in Edmonton, Canada.

He looked as disheveled as the day of his father's funeral. Not his outfit. No, his suit was pressed and clean, coat over his arm, briefcase in one hand and luggage in the other. To anyone he looked like a businessman flying anywhere, to Blair though, his hair was a mess, his eyes were covered in wayfarers, and he was carrying his own bag.

She leaned back in her chair, and slipped off her purple pumps. She heard the door ring, Dorota shuffle to answer it, and then open and close. Moments later, a man in his thirties entered, and Blair's eyes gleamed with a spot of hope.

He was wearing a clean black suit, shirt untucked and half unbuttoned, blonde hair slicked back. He had a black briefcase in hand, and wore the most arrogant grin possible.

"Miss Waldorf."

"Mr. Davies, what do you have for me?"

"I think you'll be quite pleased Miss Waldorf, I did not come empty handed."

Blair crossed her legs and place is briefcase on the table and open it. He pulled out a sharpie and walked up to a world map taped to the wall opposite Blair. He circled three cities, and completed lines from one to another.

The map was covered in about 20 of said lines linking random places all over the world.

"I don't understand, Mr. Davies, these are just more clues in his wild goose chase. What do these mean? Their all over the world, theirs no patter, no chain, no connections."

"That's what I'm here with Miss Waldorf, all this time, we've been looking for a pattern, but I think he's sending us a message. Istanbul, London, Lima, Bogota, Edinburg, Boston, Abidjan, Cairo, Kigali, Warsaw, Hong Kong, Eilat, New Orleans, Iqaluit, Melbourne, Rome, Edmonton, Amman, Dresden, Yellowknife. Take all the first letters of each city, and it spells out-"

"I'll be back when I'm ready." Blair's eyes darkened, tears formed slowly.

"Fuck." She got up, slammed her hands on the table, and pushed the papers onto the floor in her rage. She leaned over, leaned her arms against the table, and cradled her head inside them.

"Fuck," she said softer, almost a whimper.

"He's always two steps in front of me, how can he do that Mr. Davies, how can you not predict where he is going? These places can't mean anything, he barley spends two hours in each one before taking off again. Where else does he have to go, other than back to me?"

She raised her head, and the man before her looked very uncomfortable with her obvious pain. He pulled out a chair, and sat down, and pulled out a few more folders, grin subsided for now.

"That's exactly my train of thought. He must be headed somewhere more permanent that he doesn't want us to find, our he wouldn't go through all this trouble to lead us away."

He opened a file, "So I've been looking for clues, for people who he might want to see, places that might mean something to him and I figured where better to start then his mother."

He read out the file, "Octobre Bass, maiden name Devereux – born in Paris, France in 1967. Both her parents were dead by the time she was twelve; I don't know where she went. Her records have been wiped clean until she attended Oxford University in the fall of 1985. She graduated from a literature and philosophy program in 1989, and met Bart Bass in the small bakery she worked at. He evidently swept her off her feet, and the before she knew it she was pregnant and living in riches on the Upper East Side. She died in 1995, from complications that had arisen in her pregnancy years before."

He pulls out a few photocopies and hands them to Blair. "This is where it gets sketchy though, I managed to get my hands on her will, which never would have happened if Bart Bass was alive. It seems she had a little fortune of her own, left to her from her birth parents probably. The bulk of it goes into a trust fund for her son, along with all her possessions – save a pair of diamond earrings. The earrings and ten million go to a woman named Layla. No last name, no residence, nothing, we can only assume Bart knows who she is, and found a way to give her her belongings."

He pulled out another thick file, "So I cross referenced Octobre Devereux and Layla, and after sorting through hundreds of results, I came across a woman named Layla Reynard. Born to working class family in Paris 1966. She led a normal life, and then in the fall of 1985, she attends Oxford University. Her parents own the bakery in which Octobre and Bart meet. In 1990, her parents die, and she sells the bakery, while working for a small independent newspaper, yet somehow, she manages to live in a nice apartment on Avenue Foche after selling her parents house. Then in 1995, two weeks after Octobre dies, she disappears into thin air?"

He hands Blair another paper, this one a photocopy of a bank statement.

"I thought it was all a coincidence, until, I found that. That is a statement of the only independent bank account to Octobre Bass, it stays under her maiden name though. There are only 4 transactions. The first, the deposit of her parents small fortune. The second, a withdrawal of half a million dollars which is transferred the account of one Joseph Reynard. In 1990, the transfer of a million dollars into the account of the infamous Layla Reynard. And finally in 1995, the closure of the account."

Mr. Davies smiles up at Blair, whose eyes shine in hope and mostly, curiosity.

He pulls out two more papers and hands them to Blair, who skims over them and eyes widen slightly.

"Now the first of those papers, I never would have found it without you. It was in the same file as Chuck's birth certificate, it's a certificate of baptism."

He points to the end of the thin line titled godmother, in a tidy cursive her name was signed _Layla Reynald, devant Dieu._

"This last document, was extremely hard to get, as it seems Mr. Bass when through a great deal to keep it hidden. It's a photocopy of Octobre's passport, that details flights to Paris every month or so, and what's more is that she was accompanied by a child, that's what that blue stamp means. The rest of the package are the Bart and Octobre's telephone company records from 1989 until 1995. For those six years, there is a call to this number in Paris, at least once a day."

He points to a highlighted number, "I checked the number, and it still exists to the residence owned by Miss Reynard on Avenue Foche after her parents death."

"The problem is, I don't know where to go from here. It's a dead end. We might know who Chuck's with, but we have no idea where. This woman could live in any of the places Chuck's been, and we have no way of knowing. We can't find Chuck, he's done an adequate Chuck of covering his tracks."

Blair scrunched her nose in contemplation, "What about her house, where she lived with her parents before they died?"

Mr. Davies eyes lit, "Yes of course! You're a natural Miss Waldorf."

He shut his briefcase, and was out the door before Blair could protest. She rose, and went to sink into the couch in her living room. She smiled slightly; she was so close, yet she felt so alone at the moment that she couldn't hope much. It was very possible that they we're completely wrong, yes this women existed, and used to be a part of Chuck's life, but who's to say that he would care enough to visit her, let alone remember who she was. After all, from how it looked, they ceased to contact each other after his mother's death.

All she wanted was for him to come home. She didn't deserve him, but she couldn't help but wish to have him, because she wasn't sure she could keep herself together without him for much longer.

Throughout her whole life, Chuck was always her glue. They fought and bantered, but when it came down to it, they were always there for each other in one way or another. They understood each other, and they challenged each other, and in their own way, they loved each other. Everything had changed when their love romanticized, and there was no going back. She was in love with Chuck Bass, and he might not love her, but hell if she wasn't going to fight for him.


End file.
